


Dreams and Soft Things

by Vagabond



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Nightmares, Prompt Fic, This is all soft and nothing really hurts except a tiny bit in the middle, Wingfic, feathers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22809235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: Prompt fill: Crowley has a body pillow that he snuggles with Aziraphale isn't there, followed by adding to previous, it's made from Aziraphale's shed down feathers.Or: Crowley and Aziraphale try to spend some time apart, but Crowley hates every moment of it. Thankfully it doesn't last long.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 217
Collections: M25 300 Members Prompt Fill Fest





	Dreams and Soft Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PositivePumpkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/gifts), [My_Soul_and_Perfume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Soul_and_Perfume/gifts).



> Did I miss the "down" part of the prompt when I wrote this? Yes. Did I think partway through "huh would a pillow of full feathers actually be comfortable"? Definitely. Do I care enough to go back and fix it? NOPE. So you know, interpret it as you will. 
> 
> This is filling prompts from two lovely members of the m25 discord group, which I adore. It is all soft fluff. Enjoy.

One downside to the world not ending and their subsequent retirement was Aziraphale’s renewed interest in collecting books. In the gear-up toward the Apocalypse, he’d put his active hobby on hold.

“We’ve got time now Crowley,  _ real _ time.” He smiled and wiggled where he stood. “And there’s a lovely gentleman in France who has some books I’m interested in. I won’t be more than a couple of days and we’ve been in each other’s pockets since you-know-when, perhaps we can both use a break!” 

Crowley wanted to tell him to speak for himself, but he didn’t want to come off as clingy. So he nodded instead, hands shoved in his pockets. “Right, yeah. You’ve been demanding all my time recently. Glad you finally recognized it.” 

Aziraphale’s smile was utterly fond. “Of course my dear. I know how you enjoy your alone time. It is settled, then.”

“Right.” Crowley had been apart from Aziraphale for centuries at a time before. He could handle a couple of days. 

He could. 

Aziraphale set out the next morning after a quick breakfast with Crowley with the promise to phone once he arrived safely at his destination. At that point Crowley nearly offered to go with him, but Aziraphale’s words echoed in his head.  _ We’ve been in each other’s pockets _ meant that Aziraphale needed time alone, and Crowley needed to give it to him. 

He’d always been good at taking a hint. 

Crowley left Aziraphale at the train station and then drove back to Mayfair, stepping into his empty apartment with nothing less than dread settling over him. “You’ve been alone before, loads of times,” he said to no one. “You can do it again.” 

Doing it again constituted stripping and crawling into bed where he unearthed a body pillow from beneath the blankets. He curled around it, burying his face in one edge as the soft plushness gave way. It was filled with Aziraphale’s feathers, collected over the time they’d known each other. Aziraphale rarely groomed his wings so his feathers often popped out of the ether and littered the ground. He’d found loads of them in the bookshop. 

The pillow had started as a throw pillow, but collecting feathers became a habit and his pillow cases had to grow with it. Now he had a body pillow, long and warm and heavy with down and feathers he’d stolen. It smelled like Aziraphale, and the bookshop, and comfort. 

He slept. He slept through his phone ringing, the familiar chorus lost in his dreams as spectres broke out into song. He slept even when the sun poked through the crack in his curtains. 

It was easier that way, because then he could see Aziraphale in his dreams. 

Until the fire, anyway. He was standing in the bookshop as flames began to lick up the cases, precious books catching on fire. He ran from one spot to the next, scrambling for buckets of water that appeared. But the water burned him, sizzled on his skin and he kept dropping the buckets before the water could touch the flames. 

Somewhere Aziraphale called out for him, begging for his help. He sounded so confused, so disoriented. Smoke started to fill his nostrils as he frantically hoisted up the next bucket only to be burned again. 

“Karma,” a voice like Hastur’s whispered and echoed, crackling with the flames. “You had this coming. Your angel is gone.” 

“He needed to die,” Gabriel appeared before him, smiling. “It is the way of things.” 

Crowley tried to shout for Aziraphale but he couldn’t find his voice. Instead what came up were black feathers. He coughed and hacked, feathers spilling out of him. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale called for him. He had to get to him. He had to save him - couldn’t lose him again. 

“Crowley, dear boy.” He shook. His whole body jerked. 

Then he was awake. Really awake. His room was warm and his face wet with tears. There was a hand stroking back his hair. 

“Shh,” Aziraphale shushed him and he realized the angel was sitting on the bed and it was his hand in his hair. 

“Angel?” Crowley choked on the sound, confused and a bit disoriented. “France.” 

“That was a few days ago.” The hand continued, slow and steady. “I tried calling when I got back and you weren’t picking up. I thought you might have needed more time but eventually I got worried.” 

“Ssssorry.” Crowley sighed, slowly releasing the death grip he had on the pillow. 

“No, no. It is quite alright.” The hand finally stopped and Crowley whined quietly. “Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale was warm behind him, molding against his back as he laid down. “I’m sorry I left. It was quite silly of me, wasn’t it? Thinking you needed time alone, that you were tired of me and too polite to say it.” 

“I thought you wanted time alone,” Crowley admitted, hugging the body pillow closer to his chest even as he relaxed back against Aziraphale. “We’re shit at talking about things, aren’t we.” 

“Yes. We are. Brave new world and all that, I suppose I was scared to embrace it.” Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. “But I can feel it now, the despair, the longing. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner, didn’t acknowledge it.” 

“Shut up, angel,” Crowley grumbled as he hid his face in the pillow. “Too much talking.” 

“Hm.” Aziraphale rested his forehead against the back of Crowley’s shoulder. “I wasn’t absolutely sure, though, until I saw the pillow.” 

“Ngk.” 

“I always wondered what happened to my shed feathers.” Aziraphale’s voice held a smile. “There weren’t nearly as many as there should have been over the years.” 

“You weren’t paying attention.” Crowley clutched the pillow. “Are you alright with it?” 

Aziraphale laughed. “More than, my dear boy. I’m flattered. To know that you’ve been keeping pieces of me with you for so long...well. It makes me feel a little less embarrassed that I’ve been doing the same.” 

“What?” Crowley sat up, dislodging Aziraphale who finally sat up as well. 

“My pillow isn’t anything like yours, admittedly.” He gave it a once over where it sat on Crowley’s lap. “But I have, at times, nabbed feathers when I could. I have them in a little throw pillow that I liked to keep close when we were apart for long periods of time.” 

Crowley shivered. They’d exchanged feathers. Unknowingly, but they’d done it, each stealing them behind the other’s back. But it was still an exchange, the feathers taken back to nests -

His face went flush as he hid it in his hands. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale reached out and ruffled his hair. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.” 

Feather exchanges had been a somewhat common occurrence in Heaven, before the Fall. Crowley remembered it, despite never participating. Sometimes they were tokens of friendship, other times they were tokens of interest. Angels wore them in their hair, or worked them into their robes. Those who were an item likely stashed them in their nests, hidden away and safe. 

Now Crowley had a whole pillow full of Aziraphale’s and Aziraphale had a pillow of his. He looked up from his hands and took in Aziraphale’s soft smile and the way his eyes glittered with affection. His wings materialized behind him and he dragged one around to begin carding his fingers through it frantically. 

Aziraphale watched. He was patient. 

When Crowley found a loose feather he tugged it free and then tucked his wings away, holding out the single black feather. He offered it to Aziraphale. Aziraphale reached out, fingers lingering to brush against Crowley’s, before he plucked the finger from his grip and brought it to his nose. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured. Then his wings were out, bright and white and practically shining in the darkness. He found a loose feather and presented it to Crowley who snatched it up before it could be revoked, bringing it to his chest. 

A feather exchange. A proper one. Aziraphale put his wings away and they both stared at their respective feathers. Finally, Crowley unzipped the end of the pillow case and stuffed the feather in, zipping it back up. Instead of cradling the pillow, he tossed it aside and reached for Aziraphale who leaned into him willingly. 

They tumbled back onto the bed, Crowley tangling their limbs together. It was warm, and comfortable, and  _ right _ . Aziraphale was better than any pillow. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [Tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/), especially if you've got a prompt of your own you'd like to see filled!


End file.
